It's the Zombie Apocalypse, Charlie Brown!
by SimplexityJane
Summary: Sue Sylvester saves most of McKinley from a zombie outbreak. Now she has to deal with the little freaks.
1. Day One

_So I'm finally back, yay! There are a lot of WIPs on my Google Docs, so I'm posting a few here. Unbetaed, so all the mistakes are mine. Point them out, please._

_Written in part because I don't like zombie fics that kill everyone when Sue Sylvester is a badass. _Very _AU._

* * *

**Day One**

In the end, it was Coach Sylvester that saved them. Which, Santana totally called that freshman year and everyone agreed with her- Coach was the one you wanted with you in the zombie bunkers.

Her and Hummel, who'd have thought that? But there he was, some sort of machine gun strapped to his back and another two guns in his hands, and he was firing at the zombies like some sort of ninja.

So Santana's life was insane now, and the shiny gay kid was a better shot than her and Brittany was somehow killing the zombies without like, aiming. Seriously, she wasn't even looking before shooting at the crazies, which was sort of scary and sort of hot at the same time. And huh, maybe Santana was a lesbian. Well, if it was the apocalypse she might as well be honest.

"I think that's the last in this neighborhood," Kurt said. "HEY! IF YOU'RE STILL ALIVE, WE'RE GOING TO MCKINLEY!" he shouted. Kid had some lungs on him, that was for sure. A few rough looking people peeked their heads out of the houses and Santana waved from her spot in the truck, smiling cheerily. Kurt and Britt climbed back in the truck and they continued on to the next street.

It took them about three hours to get through with their little area, clearing out the zombies and searching for survivors. Most of the time if the zombies- sickly looking with swollen and bloody gums and insane to boot- were killing each other it meant that the houses were empty, and Britt didn't get to go inside them. Out of about two hundred houses thirty had escaped unscathed, and at least half had no survivors. Santana was only glad that they hadn't drawn her neighborhood. She couldn't even think of what it would have been like if she had little siblings- she hoped Puck was still holding up.

"It's crazy," Kurt said. He was lucky, his dad was apparently as badass as he was and got through it without anyone helping him. Santana tried not to be bitter. "Look at it."

McKinley was packed, cars and people surrounding it so thoroughly that people were parking in the football field and walking, many being carried. Santana felt a surge of fear mingled with her sympathy- if they'd been bitten, there was no way their blood wasn't already infected. It would be better just to shoot them.

Coach Sylvester was sorting through what looked like half an armory in the cafeteria- "Yay western Ohio," Kurt drawled as he and Brittany joined her. Santana didn't know what to do with most of it, though she knew what bullets went in the older looking shotguns. Other people were storing canned goods into boxes, and at least six of the tables had been appropriated as makeshift hospital beds. Puck and some people Santana knew were from the fight club were hovering around those tables, clothes bloody and expressions frantic. Puck looked over one girl- she couldn't have been more than twelve- and his face got drawn as he nodded at one of the only still people in the room, and the girl was dragged out of the school.

"God, this is nuts," Santana said, picking up a box of bottled waters and following another student.

"Yeah, well, zombies," Mike Chang said from behind her. He smiled wanly as they carried their water into one of the Spanish classrooms. Santana smiled back.

v-v-v

Everyone was so sad after the sun went down. Brittany could understand- her mom and dad weren't here, even if Santana was, and her heart hurt because they weren't going to be with her any more. They weren't zombies, she was sure of that much. But they were gone, like Santana's parents and Puck's mom.

Sarah was sitting with them while they all ate dinner, and Puck didn't keep his eyes off of her at all. He'd been crying and laughing all at once when she got there, and she'd hugged him way too tight for him to still be helping people who weren't already zombies. She'd sat at a table after that and watched them all work, sipping juice. She hadn't talked since she'd gotten there unless it was to Puck, and then only in whispers with dark eyes sticking to him.

"San," she said, taking Santana's hand. She was glowing, sure, like she couldn't care any more. "My bed's going to be cold."

Santana understood her, she knew. She loved her, and Brittany loved her back. But it was Kurt who answered. There was a lady with red hair behind him, smiling at Brittany.

"Our house has two extra bedrooms. You all can sleep there for as long as you want. Even you, Puckerman." Kurt grinned. The woman touched the knives strapped to his side and kissed his forehead.

"Your mom has pretty red hair, Kurt," Brittany said. Kurt paled.


	2. Day Five

**Day Five**

_**Dear Journal,**_

_**It has been five days since the zombie plague began, and it's business as usual. The most competent weaklings have been sent out in groups of three to raid homes of the fortunate dead and collect loot. Cremations are at an all time high in the fine city of Lima, which I am contemplating renaming Sylvesterville, though it may be too soon for the pathetic grieving children. Several of my former Cheerios are taking to weapons classes with as much vigor and ruthlessness as they did my training. One of the former lunkheads, an Asian named Chang, has begun sending out hunting parties in order to prepare for the coming winter.**_

_**That William Schuester and his troll hair have been questioning my authority. I understand he lost his pathetically insane wife to the plague, but questioning the chain of command when I am clearly the most competent leader this miniscule society has left is not only foolish, it's practically suicidal. Many of the survivors aren't out of their teens and prone to questioning rightful authority to begin with, and Porcelain Hummel has suggested he be put on zombie sweeping duty. I am inclined to agree with the boy, loathe as I am to say it.**_

_**His father, the magnificently bald and currently attached Burt Hummel, has suggested we send search parties to other cities. I am beginning to believe Porcelain inherited all of his tactical strength (and his hair) from his dead mother. I doubt Porcelain would be inclined to use his own father as a zombie sweeper, but the idea is intriguing. Currently he and my head Cheerios are examining maps of the town with the boy in a wheelchair in order to strengthen the defenses around the pertinent areas of the town. I am now off to tell them that we will be burning most of it to the ground.**_

"Well, most people are living in their cars," Kurt pointed out. "I mean, my house is within the mile radius we want to keep, but we haven't been able to bury everyone. Unless we have a mass cremation we're going to be looking at decay and infection."

Artie was glaring at the sprawled collection of papers on their desks. Brittany and Santana were playing a game of footsie and Mike Chang looked as desperate as Kurt felt to be out of this tiny closet they'd converted into an office. Five days post zombies and the pickings were good. Dad and Mrs. Hudson were out there flirting over dead bodies and Finn Hudson and he were at an awkward impasse. Kurt wondered why five teenagers were the ones in charge of fortifications, but then he remembered that Sue Sylvester had declared herself the Leader and thought they were actually competent. A scary thought.

"Yeah, well, if we try to do that someone's going to freak out," Santana said, smirking at Brittany. It was disconcerting to see her face free of the mask she'd always worn. "It'll be all 'my relatives' and crap like that."

"Well if we don't do something the houses we can save are going to be deadly. Things are already spoiling after the power went out." Artie pursed his lips and continued, "We can present the idea to Sylvester whenever she checks in on us."

"Speaking of spoiled food, how's hunting going?" Kurt asked Mike. They all wore guns, but Mike was the only one other than Kurt who had knives strapped to his belt as well. His were for skinning, but he could use them well enough to go up against zombies. Possibly a bear, too. Kurt wished he could take out his frustrations on a bear.

"Well, we were finally able to figure out how to shoot birds without the meat getting destroyed by buckshot. We're working on drying the meat without the technology we're used to, which is going well. Thankfully the plague doesn't affect animals, or we'd be screwed." He smiled, looking tired. He'd lost his parents- most of them had. Kurt was just lucky Dad had been at the shop and was able to fight his way to the school. Mike had been staying with the Cohen-Changs, but none of them were really getting sleep.

"Yeah, that would be bad," Kurt agreed. There was a sharp rapping at the door and Sylvester opened it without them answering her, nodding at them.

"While you ingrates were arguing about what to do I decided that we were going to burn the houses outside the one mile radius. Do with that what you will. Wheels, we need to talk-" Santana interrupted her, brave girl.

"Coach, we should use them as funeral pyres. We can't bury everybody and the bodies are going to rot just like the food. We can act like it's a ceremony so no one complains." And just like that, smile on her face, Santana acted as if that had been completely her idea. Kurt respected that.

"Not a bad idea. Alright, that's it, go kill things for your country before they destroy your already questionable intellects. Professor X and I are going to finalize security details alone." With that she shooed them out of the office.

"I'm going hunting," Mike announced. Brittany followed him, leaving Santana and Kurt alone. Kurt nodded awkwardly. She and Brittany were rather... vocal.

"Puck probably needs help in the infirmary," Santana offered.

"Okay," Kurt said. The infirmary was set up outside the school, what amounted to a tent spread across a section of the football field. They'd begun raiding the hospital first thing after they had all the survivors in the school, and they'd lost ten people taking it from the zombies. Kurt was still bitter about that.

Puck, the entirety of Lima's fight club, and the surviving nurses were stitching up everyone they could (The plague had hit the hospital harder than anywhere else. Before they'd realized what the symptoms were, zombies had been admitted to the emergency room and infected patients and doctors alike. Three nurses had barricaded themselves in a supply closet and had to be treated for dehydration when they managed to get to them, but none of the doctors survived. Puck dealt with their survivor's guilt the same way he did everything: he told them to repress until they were through the emergency period.) and it was pandemonium. It wasn't sterile, construction was making it impossible to hear, for some reason they'd decided Puck was the leader- an exercise in stupidity if Kurt had ever seen one- and people were literally dying even though they hadn't been attacked by zombies at all.

"Dammit, he's bleeding out," Lauren Zizes hissed as she fell over the leg of some unfortunate guy. "You, Raiders-" She pointed at Kurt and Santana. "Get bandages and a straight stick."

It was quick work, Lauren making a knot in the bandages and Kurt holding his hands on the pressure point to keep blood from getting through. The stick went into the knot and Kurt watched, fascinated, as the bleeding stopped with Lauren's twists. Santana tied another bandage around the stick without any other words while the guy started shaking. Someone handed them a pillow that elevated his legs, and Kurt was left with the task of reassuring the almost unconscious man while the girls situated him.

"It's okay, it's okay," he said. What did someone do in these situations? He felt like gagging, but that would have been a Very Bad Thing and Lauren would probably have killed him or kicked him out or both. The guy didn't seem to understand him, mouth gaping- Kurt had the awful feeling that he was about to watch someone actually die.

"No one move him," Lauren snapped as she pushed Kurt away with her hips. "Daniel, you're in shock. Don't move, you're going to be fine." She pulled a canister of what seemed to be water from somewhere on her person. "This is sugar water. Sip it _slowly_."

It was slow, and most of it Kurt didn't remember later, but half an hour later when Lauren removed the tourniquet- them standing around in case of an emergency- the pressure bandage held, and they all breathed easier.

Most of the injuries weren't that severe, luckily. Something had happened with construction of a less temporary infirmary and Daniel was the worst off of the workers. There were quite a few sprains and taped ribs all around, but very few were deadly.

"It's almost time for dinner," Kurt said when it seemed that there was a lull in patients. Lauren was drinking from a flask that definitely wasn't sugar water and she snorted at him.

"You don't have to convince _me_ to leave this place." Lauren pointed at where Puck was reading a medical textbook and watching over the sleeping patients. "He hasn't eaten anything other than power bars all day."

Kurt nodded, knowing that Puck hadn't come back to his house either, even though Sarah was sleeping there too. There was a cot set up to the side of his chair that Kurt was sure was being put to use.

"Puck," he said, and he got a nod in response. "It's dinner time."

"'m not hungry," Puck muttered, writing down some sort of equation. His hair was coming in. He looked like he hadn't bathed in days.

"Well just so you know, your sister wants to hunt zombies. I'm inclined to let her."

_That_ got a response. Puck growled and went to hit him, and Kurt dodged easily. He let his own fist fly and winced as it cracked against Puck's cheekbone.

"No way in hell is my sister-"

"Well, maybe you should let her know that you aren't dead before she gets herself killed!" Kurt shouted back. "Now, we're going to eat dinner in the cafeteria, you're going to hug your sister, one of the nurses will take the night shift tonight and you're going to sleep a full eight hours." Puck scoffed. "If I recall, you're not even qualified to do this anyway. You can study at my house as well as here, and we have actual beds. So come on." He took Puck's arm. "You're also going to take a shower because infection's going to start spreading if you don't practice hygiene."

v-v-v

Brittany was good at hunting. It was awful that the animals had to die, but there were little kids who needed to eat and they needed meat. She preferred fishing in the stream she'd found because she'd read that fish didn't know anything anyway, but today they were going to have almost-chicken soup. They didn't actually know what the birds were that they shot, but they tasted alright. The feathers were going to be used for blankets and pillows, the bones for stock, the fat for candles- they used everything!

When they got enough that they could use them in the soup and they actually be able to taste them they went back to the school in pickup trucks. It had gotten almost fully dark by then and Brittany smiled at the way the people clapped at them, waving at them. They were walking beside them and Brittany saw that they actually looked happy. It had been five days and people were still in shock, but they were alive, and that made everyone happy.

The infirmary was getting built, which was cool except that they'd stopped.

"Did someone get hurt?" Brittany asked Mike. He shrugged. By then they'd gotten to where they would park and the hunters were plucking the not-chickens' feathers. The birds looked so different without their feathers, more like food. It was still yucky to take the heads off, and she smelled like blood afterward- when they got the guts out and made sure to throw the liver in with everything else some people threw up- "Isn't the liver really good for you, though?" Brittany asked and Mike looked constipated.

She shrugged and went back to work. The cooks thanked them for the meat and some ladies started filling sheets with the feathers that they'd start cleaning tomorrow. Brittany knew this meant they were done except for cleaning up the trucks, which was just spraying a hose in so the blood wasn't so obvious the next day.

One community shower later and she was clean, kissing San on the cheek as she sat down at their table. Kurt and Puck were actually there tonight, which made her smile as Sarah started talking really fast about what she'd done that day.

"And then it _exploded_, and it was awesome but Kelly got in big trouble with her uncle and we're not allowed to do it again, which isn't awesome but tomorrow Mrs. Cohen-Chang's gonna watch us and she's awesome and we get to learn about Spanish and all that. And Matthew's gonna start gun training camp, can I go with him?"

"No," Puck said.

"But Noah, zombies are bad and we have to fight them!"

"Yeah, and you're ten. So no, you're not going to try to shoot zombies and die doing it, and that's it."

Sarah glared and went quiet. She picked at her soup afterward, and sat as far away from Puck when they were going back to Kurt's house. Mr. Hummel smiled at them and asked about their days and Brittany smiled as she said, "I cut a not-chicken's head off."

The lady behind Mr. Hummel started laughing and patted him on the back while Finn choked.


	3. Days Eight through Fifteen

_Author Note: While this and The New Normal are their own distinct stories, I intend for Quinn and Rachel to end up in Lima with the group._

_I've also made some big changes to the landscape of Lima. It's pretty close to a lake, with its own power plant that supplies the town (and neighboring towns along the highway, but since everyone's dead...). I don't like writing fight scenes, but be assured, the power plant was overrun by zombies. It was bad._

_*Points at this* This is where the fics start to intertwine._

_Every relationship is a pretty SLOW burn, okay?_

* * *

_Days Eight to Fifteen_

"We gather here in this time of sorrow to mourn the dead loved ones we have lost." The woman standing at the front of the crowd was large and intimidating, eyes hard. She'd gotten there the second day and started helping them with food supplies. She didn't have any family in town, didn't have any family any more. She was the only one who wouldn't break down while saying her piece. "There aren't a lot of us left. We have to remember that we can't stop living- they wouldn't want us to. We can't just survive- we have to live, thrive." She turned her head and nodded to one of the adults ready to set the fire.

The people closest to the blaze had to back away to get away from the smell. They shouldn't have left the burning so long, Puck knew. Bodies started decaying as soon as they died- the smell of rot and the smell of burning flesh didn't mix very well, at least not well in the sense that human stomachs tended to rebel at two opposing ideas. He motioned for the guards to push the crowd back, hissing when a wave of heat carried the nauseating smell with it.

Puck was on fire watch, because Zizes couldn't stand the smell- there was something awful about knowing that your mouth was watering because of someone's dead relatives. They were burning one building at a time, careful not to scorch the earth. Eventually someone would break up the concrete and connect gardens they were going to plant, but for now it was all they could to to plant an acre of squash here and there. It was almost October, they were going to have to start thinking about what would happen when the food supply ran out- and it would run out. Luckily Puck's only job was to read every medical textbook he could get his hands on and treat the idiots who managed to get injured because they didn't know how to wear helmets.

A few hours later, when the beams of the building were charred and he could leave (they'd removed all the supplies from the house before, then brought the bodies out in a ceremony that everyone was getting used to, and afterward other people would gather the bones to be buried in a mass grave in the forest), he walked back through the construction of a great brick wall, which was amazing and awful at the same time, wincing at all the safety protocols being broken. "Helmets, dumbasses, helmets!" he shouted. Someone who'd been on the hockey team- Karofsky, a freshman built like a brick wall who would have gone pro for sure- flipped him off. When he passed the construction and saw the campfires his stomach turned.

It had been Hummel's idea- "The best way to get people's minds off death is to make sure they know they're alive." He'd nodded at Santana, who'd been staring besottedly at Brittany. "The best way to do that-" He coughed.

"You're suggesting putting teenagers and adults in a campground and getting them drunk, at which point they will fornicate on the ground like little bunny rabbits attempting to repopulate after Miss Buckshot's hunting expedition." Everyone looked at Brittany, then at Hummel, who was as red as Puck had ever seen a person get.

"Not... well, yes." He pulled himself up and stared down Sylvester. Probably President, now. And he didn't get killed.

"I like it," she said, then left. "There will be parties after the burnings, and we will deal with our grief through alcohol."

They'd put crates of condoms in obvious looking areas. Puck didn't want to deal with apocalypse children.

"Only water, and no drinking anything the adults have," he told the group of kids by one of the fires. There had been an incident the first night.

The rest of what everyone was calling the 'Counsel' was sitting by one of the fires, Santana and Brittany wrapped up in each other without shame, Hummel and Artie and Mike having a conversation about- shit, about bone warping metal.

"We're having this discussion now?" he asked, nodding to the twelve or so other people who got to confer on the Counsel. Three of them were nurses, one of them was the new woman, Beiste. He sat down on the ground and pulled the bag from under Hummel's chair. It usually had his books in it, so when they weren't there he glared and poked Hummel's leg. The guy had it in his head that Puck needed to take days off from learning what was wrong with people, even though he was the one who'd made it his personal mission to kill every zombie in Lima in the first three days of the outbreak. "Give me my books, Kurt," he said. Hummel turned from the conversation and smirked.

"Well, actually, I can't because Lauren Zizes has them locked away. We're all supposed to rest today, especially the fire watchers, so you're not getting those back until at least five tomorrow."

He only complied because he had to. If he knew one thing, it was what Kurt and Zizes could do if they got together. They'd managed to get everyone who was working on the new infirmary-hospital-thing to actually finish it, even if that meant it was a lot hotter in there now. They were working on ventilation and maybe getting some fans in there. Insulation for winter, things that were important but not a part of his concern, not with it being almost cold and flu season. He could deal with colds; it was the flu that he was afraid of. The flu and pneumonia and bronchitis, things that could kill people without modern medicine. Andrea, a nurse, said they had enough levaquin for a hundred cases of pneumonia. Making it, getting the power to make antibiotics (that probably wouldn't even fucking help), was the making of his nightmares. God knew what they'd do when they ran out of the heavy duty shit and couldn't treat people.

There were a thousand people left in Lima, maybe all of Ohio, and their hospital was the only functioning one they knew of in the fucking country.

"Hey," Mike said, plopping down beside him and handing him a beer. "Don't worry, not tonight. It's a festival." He smiled at a girl approaching, as did Artie, and hopped up, bowing to her. "Tina, this is the Young Counsel, guys, this is Tina. She has awesome aim and doesn't throw up in the presence of dead things." Kurt nodded and smiled like this was the most important thing. "Anyway, she's got some awesome ideas about defense and refuge and getting the message out, especially now that we have the electricity back." That had been some battle, at least according to the people who came back. The electric company had been overrun by zombies, one of the reasons power had gone out without people to monitor the water from the lake. It had taken the entire seventh day. They'd only had power for about three hours.

"Um, yeah," she said. Funny, Puck remembered she had a stutter. "I was thinking, not a lot of people are going to have electricity like we do. So, radio towers. I mean, if they turn on the radios in their cars at night." She didn't look at anyone in the eye for too long. "And Mr. Hummel had the idea of going out on the interstate and telling people where we were, you know, make sure people know."

She looked like she was about to die. Puck had a little mercy.

"Well." He chugged the beer in one go, ignoring the look Hummel sent him. "None of that tonight. Would you like to dance, Miss Tina?" He had avoided the whole sex thing people were indulging in now that it was 'the end of the world', but a little dancing couldn't hurt anyone. It might even get one of the guys to make a freaking move. It was only the apocalypse.

"I would," she said. She took his hand and led him to the most hazard filled of the fires, and they ended up dancing in a line with everyone. It was the most fun he'd had in years.

* * *

**_Day Ten_**

**_Sue Sylvester's Log:_**

**_I have just been given an interesting proposition from none other than William Schuester. While he has had his hair forcibly cut by Puckerman for being a clear carrier of the lice that we can't seem to shake from the community (oh, log, how he irks me, spreading the bastard insects to even my hair, causing me to accept a house call from the now bald Puckerman that I might be spared the humiliation of entering the infirmary along with the commoners suffering from this plague), he is still the most infuriating member of homo sapiens sapiens that I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. He has suggested that he and several other members of the community be allowed to go on quests to discover any unfortunate souls who might still be alive in this zombie ridden new world. Not simply Columbus, which we are now in the process of destroying and looting and has supplied us with twenty new workers- and the lice, from one child who couldn't be bothered to clean herself before entering the town. William wishes to search the east and the west, the whole of America so he can fill the empty hole that appeared when his insane wife died._**

**_I have been surprised as well by a new Counsel member, whom I did not approve and whose voice is the loudest for these new plans. Ms. Cohen-Chang believes in 'saving people', and is sharing in this opinion with one of the new recruits from Columbus named, of all things, Mercedes. The girl's entire family is gone save her equally distraught mother, it is true, and the two of them do not have the necessary skills to build the town as my Cheerios are doing, or to rid the outside of zombies and insanity as Hummel and Pierce seem destined to. I simply wish that this was not the idea that came to them in this time of trial. It's ripping Hummel apart at the seams, as his father is among those who have volunteered for this suicide mission._**

**_Sue Sylvester, September Twentieth, Year One_**

"It's not going to be for long, Kurt," Dad promised. He was packing two sets of clothes, an extra set of work boots and a leather jacket- two jackets, one wool and one leather, leather for the zombies and wool for the cold. Kurt was shaking. Of all the things to happen in the almost two weeks since the outbreak, this was the worst. Not even losing one of his own, a guy who was just a kid- Matt- to those fucking zombies when he just wanted power so he could play Disney for his little brother and sister, had been this bad. It was only when Mrs. Jones had offered to take them in that Kurt had gotten them off his couch. She was Mercedes' mom, and Mercedes was going with Finn Hudson to find survivors south of them. They were hopeful that there would be fewer zombies to the south because there were fewer people. Kurt thought the same thing, but because of the space between some towns in Kentucky. Dad and Carol were going west- and Carol was probably never going to see her son again, whether because she died or he did, or they found an actual settlement and stayed there to help them get a government mapped out with Sue's help.

"You don't have to do this," he said. "We're still fighting zombies in Columbus, we're still finding people twelve days out. Isn't that more important?" he asked, hoping the tears weren't showing. They obviously were. Dad pulled him into a hug, tight like he couldn't let go. Kurt sobbed a breath into his shoulder.

"Kurt, you don't think I'd stay if that was the best thing to do?" he asked. "I would, I would stay and fight zombies with you until they were all dead. But there are people out there, unprepared people, scared people, who need a place to live where they won't be afraid their kids are gonna starve to death. You and the other- rangers-" he practically spit, the name they'd given themselves sounding painful in his voice, "They fight zombies. Me and Carol and Finn? We've just been getting the leftovers. Things in the forest that don't know any better than to run around on twigs. We're not hunters like you are, Kurt, and we have to do something else now. We have to find other killers so they can help, and farmers who know how to make things grow without raiding the local library." Even though Dad was crying too, he still managed to look wry. "So we'll be gone for a month or two, we'll get back before it really hits winter. I swear, Kurt. I can feel your mom looking over us, keeping us safe."

Kurt didn't roll his eyes, even if the idea of his mom keeping him safe from beyond the grave was ludicrous. Brittany said she was sad and happy all at once, but she'd obviously seen the picture on the mantle of Mom and Dad at Kurt's first play in kindergarten, where Mom was crying tears of joy, and she misinterpreted that in some dream. That was all it could be.

He still hoped Mom was there. Even if she'd kill him for some of the things he'd done since the world went to hell.

He visited Santana and Brittany, who were packing as well. They were the only reason he was okay with Finn and Mercedes leaving, going with them to teach them how to kill things that looked like people and things that didn't, and when they were happy with their progress coming back to Lima. Brittany had cut her hair because of the lice outbreak, even though it hadn't gotten to their house because Puck replaced all their shampoo with the stuff that practically destroyed hair follicles along with any bug eggs. Kurt had been pissed about that. He'd gotten over it when he saw the way people were being shaved at the infirmary.

"Hey," he said. "Need anything? I can probably get you some of the last chocolate, even. Or- you remembered tampons, right?" he asked. "I mean, not that you have to, but you only have so many clothes."

"We have cups," Brittany said sweetly. "They last longer." She kissed him on the cheek, which must have made a picture because Santana was snickering. "You have to promise not to fall in love before I get back, though, because you can't know how good someone is like your mom can." She was very serious about this, this little delusion she had. And Kurt sometimes wanted to cry or even smack her for it. Because he knew his mom wasn't actually there, and hearing Brittany talk about her like she was this tangible person in the room- she was lucky she was such a good shot, and that she was leaving the town for the next few weeks. Maybe she'd find some sanity alone with Santana.

"I promise I won't fall in love," he told her. He doubted there were any gay guys here anyway.

* * *

"So, how are you doing?" Brittany asked Mercedes. Her dad was proud of her, he wanted her to know that- but Brittany didn't think Mercedes was ready to know that yet.

Mercedes had a good gun, one that was too big for Brittany to hold comfortably but she could shoot easily. She was getting more muscles as the days went on, even if she was losing weight too quickly for her to look healthy. Brittany thought she'd looked beautiful in the beginning, but she was much stronger now. So was Finn Hudson, who'd been freaked out when they encountered an entire line of cars that were now headed to Lima. They heard there were some people ("Dumbass hicks," the leader called them.) who were staying behind, trying to wait it out like the government was going to help them now that everything was gone.

They'd sent a letter back to Kurt and Puck, telling them about the nurse and the anesthesiologist who were with this group. Puck would like that. Kurt would like all the guns they had, and the two people who'd looked like they would like to kill zombies just for fun.

"Well, it's been two weeks and I'm not dead, so I guess that's pretty good," she said.

"Actually it's been fifteen days," Brittany said. "That's better, right?" she asked. Mercedes smiled and nodded, checking her sight again. That was good. It showed that she had a handle on the basics, because as big as the gun was Mercedes was actually holding it and it had moved while they were talking. She adjusted it again and hit almost at the center of the tree. If it had been a deer it would have been dead. That was a good thing, so Brittany told Mercedes that. Mercedes thanked her but looked queasy.

"Why are these two going out into the zombie apocalypse?" Santana muttered while they were eating one of the three rabbits Brittany had caught and then roasted. They had enough meat that there would be some left over for the puppy the car leader had given them. It was six months old and as tall as her hip. It caught most of its own food, and could sniff zombies and howled when they were near. She'd named it Bear. None of them were crazy enough to get close enough to see whether Bear was a he or she.

"Because they want to help people, not kill zombies. And we're here for the opposite reason." She kissed Santana on the mouth, tasting the grease from the dinner. It wasn't that nice, but Santana was nice enough that Brittany didn't care about the grease. That was probably what love meant, so she said it. Santana looked shocked, but happier than she'd ever looked Before.

"I love you too," she said. She then whistled at Bear, who trotted over obediently to grab its rabbit leg. "I think Bear's a girl, because we can't see it's dick." Bear had turned and Brittany noticed that too. She shrugged. Bears could be girls too.

* * *

Is Brittany psychic? you ask. Well, yes. THERE ARE FUCKING ZOMBIES I THINK A PSYCHIC IS ALLOWED.

Actually she's a medium, and a good one, which is why she sounds a little crazy sometimes. No one else really believes she's psychic, though. I'm going to end each chapter with her POV, mostly to get status updates on the others. Also because her eyes are a bit less judgmental than the others, so she can see what's there, not just what people think is there.

As always, no beta except for my spell check, so there shouldn't be any of that. Any grammatical errors that don't look purposeful, though, those should be reported because you're all lovely and deserve a grammatically sound piece.


	4. Day Twenty, Twenty-Three

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Seasons Greetings, all that good stuff.

The rating has changed to an M for mentions of rape (offscreen), the death penalty, non-graphic descriptions of male genitalia- in the medical field, don't get your hopes up just yet.

* * *

Day Twenty and Twenty-Three

"It's just a scratch," the ranger insisted. "It wasn't even a zombie, it was a fucking bush, you can't just kill someone for scraping their hand on a fucking bush!" Puck rolled his eyes.

"No, but we can sure as hell quarantine you for six hours. Calm the fuck down and follow them to quarantine or I'll sedate you." He had needles. Rangers were awful about needles. The guy huffed and left, following the security he'd taken off the wall to welcome back the survivors and any new refugees who might be idiots. In the week since the search parties went out, over fifty people had driven up to the gate and stared before asking to be let in. They were always directed first to Puck and the slowly growing medical contingent of the town- some people like him, reading books until their eyes bled and they could figure out what to use on funguses and how to set a broken arm with the best of them, some nurses, one doctor who was teaching Puck more than books ever could. They'd decided to do this after the lice outbreak, which they'd barely managed to kill when they found lice in the head of another refugee, this time an adult. Bugs were one of Puck's least favorite parts of this brave new world.

Rangers were up there with them. Especially Hummel, who was, as usual, being told off by Sylvester for his suicidal impulses. Some of the insults were actually pretty awesome.

"-and furthermore, I don't care how many skills you have, I will take your pansy ass off of this and put you on gardening duty! Go get cleaned up and report to the Counsel room. That means you too, Puckerman!" she added, stomping through the room. She'd already been checked out, by Zizes (she'd drawn the short straw), and just nodded at him and went on her way.

Kurt looked awful. There was dirt on his face and something that looked like an intestine on his jacket. There were no obvious cuts or scrapes, but that was where Puck's job got difficult. It was pretty standard procedure by now, because most people's self preservation was actually pretty high, and even if they were bitten they thought that maybe they'd be immune to zombies. Puck didn't know how it all worked, but he was pretty sure no one was immune to zombies.

"Strip," Puck said, and Kurt grinned.

"I love it when you're all forceful. Is it just for me?" he asked, taking off his outerwear. Puck was used to this by now, even with Hummel. Most of the rangers- he read the book that was from and, well, he hoped the zombies didn't mean that there would be a decade of winter- were men, though there were a few women, mostly former Cheerios, among them, and the idea of looking at someone's junk sort of took on a new mindset when you saw so many dicks that you honestly could draw them from memory. Most of them were just weird looking and uncut- seriously, wasn't circumcision supposed to be healthier? No few of them were half hard, which stopped being weird when he read up on adrenaline and the phenomenon of bloodlust. He got over it.

"Fuck, Hummel, what the hell did you do?" he asked. There were no real scrapes, but there were bruises that were beginning to color in along his torso that looked like he'd been thrown into something, hard. He was putting the filthy clothes in the basket with the other rangers' clothes- most to be washed, only some that would be burned because they were so disgusting. God, it looked like he'd been tossed around by some giant.

"Someone had to set off the bomb," he said primly, not turning around. There were way too many bruises for anyone to be comfortable standing, let alone all the running he and the other rangers had had to do to get out of Columbus, which had easily become the largest zombie infestation they had to deal with. "Can I go shower now, Puck?" he asked. He didn't sound like he was in any pain, which could have been the adrenaline but it was more likely stubborn pride. They had robes for them to wear to the shower system they had rigged up ("It has a sadly limited number of cleaning products, but it'll do.") and he tied his quickly enough that Puck knew he was still uncomfortable being naked in front of anyone.

"You'll have to come back, make sure there are no broken bones. I'm out, Zizes!" he said, and Lauren yelled at him to hurry the fuck up with his bureaucratic day job. She was taking to the 'bedside manner' thing with as much grace and tact as she did anything, which he got. Neither of them were comfortable in this little shack by the wall; they'd much prefer to be in their infirmary, as crazy as it could get sometimes.

The wall was circular and unfinished, the radius marking where the one mile radius from the school ended and the foraging began. They'd stopped celebrating, but houses were still being looted and torn down. They didn't burn them anymore because they needed the wood, brick, and steel in the frames, but they couldn't afford the space so many houses took up if they were going to grow enough food to support more than a thousand people. When San and Brit got back they'd probably end up on that detail, especially with the personal vendetta Kurt had against zombies. The way it was going he was going to get himself killed.

The refugees coming through town had to go through a delousing treatment, even if they were free of bugs or eggs, and then they either started working with building on the wall, working in the gardens that were slowly growing, or hunting- with Kurt or with Mike, wherever their preferences lay. It was less than one in twenty that had decided to help with medical, and both of those were from the refugees Santana and Britt sent back the second day, along with news that it wouldn't be as long as they thought it would before they came back home. Two weeks, they said, before Finn and Mercedes were ready to actually kill things to survive and wouldn't die in the South.

"The school," he told the truck driver headed in that direction. Some of the cleaned up rangers welcomed him into the back. They were going to the gardens, tilling and planting as much as they could before Hummel ran them ragged getting the zombies out of Columbus, using any means necessary. Everything was about food to people who hunted. Everything was about health to him.

Two types of people, he guessed.

The room where they met had once been the singing room. It had more room than an average classroom and almost a stage, if the benches that held chairs counted. Usually they got the chairs out into a circle, but too many of them were gone for them to do that right now. Tina and Mike were already there, talking about the best way to clean meat without wasting what could be good to eat, even though chitlins were the worst thing Puck had ever tried eating. They were easy or something. There were also these plants that had to be boiled twice and rinsed just as much so it wouldn't poison them, that they served with eggs for breakfast. Food had definitely taken a downturn since the apocalypse.

"We all know what Puck thinks of that," Tina teased, then looked away when he met her eyes. Her hair had been caught in the crossfires of the lice outbreak, which meant it was now cut in a pixie-ish way that she'd insisted on styling herself. Since Mike was staying at the Hummel household with Puck and Sarah he didn't have to cut his hair at all since Puck had decided to fight fire with chemicals, but he'd done it in solidarity and looked sort of punk. Sort of. Puck did it better.

"I just don't like the idea of eating shit, thanks," he said, nodding as Artie wheeled in. He was worried about Artie. There were so many ways he could get hurt and they wouldn't be able to help him. They might not even know he was hurt and he could die of an infection- which was probably getting a little too much work into this business meeting. Sylvester would be in here in a minute, he figured. Artie was creating a stable form of government (for loose meanings of 'government' and 'stable') and thinking of ways to create a free market when things got back to normal. At the moment everyone was going along with Sylvester because she was competent, but soon enough people would be talking about communism and capitalism and all that crap. Artie and Sylvester were figuring out how they were going to deal with that when it happened. There were talks of a militia and trade and small-government communism. Puck didn't really understand all that.

Kurt strolled in, wearing all his weapons as usual- he didn't really have anything to compensate for, so it must have been honest fear- and smirked before sitting beside Tina and slinging an arm around her. She leaned in and they giggled about something, probably Mike- or dead things. Dead things were always on the table when it came to those two.

"Hello, minions," Sylvester said, walking in like she owned the place. Acknowledging that she sort of did, Puck raised an eyebrow anyway. "As you all no doubt realize, it has been one week since the... intrepid explorers have left town. We've received mail from our Counsel members, as is to be expected, and even a letter from Porcelain's genetically inferior forebear." Kurt protested this with a light shriek. "However, William Schuester and his partner Carl "beefcakes" Howell have _not_ written, so we are to assume they're either dead or have been captured by another settlement and we can forget about them forever." Despite Sylvester's words Puck could tell she was actually worried. Probably because without Mr. Schuester around for her to insult she'd never run out of steam and would likely literally explode.

"I'm sure they'll write, Ms. Sylvester," Tina said. "They probably haven't found anyone alive, not with all the condensed cities in the east."

"You just live to undo my hopes and dreams, don't you Cohen-Chang? Anyway, should their party not send a letter in the next five days I will assume them lost to zombies or humans and we will have to mourn them, even if I can't stand Schuester and only tolerate Howell because his face looks like it was carved by angels." She took a moment, probably to think about how pretty the guy was. "Anyway, that matter of business dealt with, we have a problem. It seems that someone stole the majority of the medicines from our pharmacies before we could get there, and we have a thief in our community."

Puck's stomach sank. They'd been able to collect things from the bloodbath that had been the hospital, enough for maybe one in ten of them- and in such close quarters he wouldn't be surprised if half of them got the flu or any other contagious disease- but the pharmacies had been full with things they needed, preventative medicines and cough drops and blood sugar testing supplies.

"I know this is a major issue. And I believe I know where the thief is and how to get the medicine back. I called this meeting to decide what we're going to do about it." The thing about Sue Sylvester was that even though she talked a big game and insulted everyone, when push came to shove it was when she was quiet that she needed people to listen to her most. "If we find these people, should we put them to death?"

As quickly as he thought he was fine he was suddenly ready to throw up again. He could see the way this would go already. Kurt would be pro-death, Tina against, Artie against, Mike for it even though Tina was against it, and he'd have to be the deciding factor. It was his department, after all.

"No," he said as he heard two voices saying yes and two more saying no with him. They were exactly how he'd imagined it, and Sue stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"You don't want the person who stole from your patients, who put their life and probable addiction in front of the lives of this community, to die for that?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I'm not a doctor, but I won't- first, do no harm, and whoever it was was probably panicking. If it were food it would be different. We don't know if anyone's going to get sick." Stealing food was a big deal. He was pretty sure Sylvester's proclamation that food theft was a capital offense had made people wet themselves. It had been quiet, and she hadn't had to repeat herself.

She nodded, looking almost impressed. He didn't want that, not from her or even Hummel. He just didn't want someone to die when they were going to get the medicine back anyway.

"I suppose this is a democracy, and I for one don't want any more capital offenses here." Food theft, rape, and murder, those were the things that would get someone killed. They'd had one arrest for rape, none for theft or murder, and the execution was scheduled for the fifth. The debate over public or private had been settled when they opened the door to a mob demanding the guy's head. Private was safer for everyone. There were also guards at his cell so they didn't kill him before he needed to die. If they had a priest they would have sent one there. "So, I've had a team of rangers and hunters raid the cars along the wall, and they found enough supplies in there that we don't have to worry about your medicine. It's been delivered to the infirmary- yes, you can go, since your attention has obviously been diverted."

He practically ran out the door. They'd promised to break out the last of the vodka when they got this. Those nurses were fucking heavyweight champions when it came to alcohol.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Bear was getting nicer. She started sleeping with them and even let them pet her when she was feeling nice, and when they let her eat more rabbits she even licked them. She didn't like to eat zombies, either, which was good because that would have been disgusting. Brittany thought it was sad that they couldn't take Bear back with them, but she needed to stay with Finn and Mercedes to keep them safe. Not that that would be any time soon.

"Honestly, you just aim for godssake. It's just an angle and you can even see here how much wind- do not point that at people Finn Hudson." He'd just twisted to tell her something, but the gun had gone with it. Brittany and Mercedes were sitting on the ground cleaning fish- they'd found the Mississippi River, and even though Mercedes didn't want to they had to eat and drink water, and they had a good purifier. They just had to cook it really well and everything should be fine, hopefully.

"She's being really hard on him," Mercedes said, picking the guts out of a fish and tossing them over to Bear. Bear had a stronger stomach so she wouldn't get sick from the rawness like they would.

"Well, he could be better, and she knows it," Brittany said. "He just needs to stop forgetting things." There was a rustling and Brittany had her gun out. So did Mercedes and Santana, but it wasn't a zombie. It was one of the people in the town they'd been talking to, a guy who'd said he was sort of the de facto leader now that so many people were dead.

"So, you guys have a map?" he asked. He had a nice smile, but there was something weird about it. Santana had said that they should get away from him- there were bullet holes in some of the cars in the town, and they hadn't lived there before the outbreak. There weren't that many of them, though, and they needed a place to stay.

"We have a lot," Brittany said, and it was true. They had thirty maps and had given five away already. They gave him a map and stayed where they were as they watched a line of cars leaving to go to Lima. There was even a vet with them, which might help with humans. Brittany didn't know if they'd done the right thing, though. Ryerson didn't feel right, and even the dead people had avoided him.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

So we get to the plot. I feel incredibly uncomfortable because Ryerson is- well, he's not very good. And I can't believe how tactlessly Glee treated that, because it was one of the most triggering things I've ever seen on tv, and that includes SVU. A lot of things in the show treated issues like child abuse indelicately- especially in regards to Puck.

I'm not going to go into Ryerson because it triggers me way too much. He won't be around for more than one chapter after this. Then... well, you'll just have to see.

They ended up west of where they wanted to be, because they're teenagers.

We're almost caught up in the narrative with The New Normal. One more chapter before I freak out about that.


	5. Day Twenty-five through Twenty-Nine

**One in five men are sexually assaulted in their lifetimes, and one in three women. The overwhelming majority of perpetrators are respected individuals the victims trusted. Unlike certain shows that use reality as a joke, I tried to approach this with as much care as I know how, especially knowing that someone reading this could be triggered.**

**Warnings for this chapter: mentions of flagellation of the genitals, mention of child molestation, language, violence, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past rape, execution scene, teenagers in a violent world trying to deal with that.**

**Okay, on that note, I don't mind if you stop reading right now, especially if it's because of possibly triggering content. Seriously, I would not be offended if you skipped this chapter.**

* * *

Lauren was examining one of the adults from a group the people in the South had sent. They'd all insisted on coming in together, that they could wait for each other outside, even as cold as it was. The guy was thirty, with good teeth and no scars. He kept glancing at her like she was doing something awful, however, when she asked him questions about his sex life and any STI he could possibly have contracted to create the scars he had around his genitals. She was wondering what it could be when Puck called her name.

"Lauren," he said, instead of Zizes, even though that was what she usually insisted on people calling her. That was how she knew something was wrong. She handed a robe to the man (Ezekiel) and met Puck outside. In the dim light they'd set up to help people on the wall she could see that he was as white as a sheet.

"I called rangers here," he said under his breath, showing her a chart and pointing at what was actually a blank sheet of paper. "The kids- the boys- some of them have lacerations on- the older boys especially." He didn't seem to be able to talk. Lauren took his hand, gripping it hard. That scared rabbit look he had slowly vanished. "The kids stayed together."

She smiled and took the chart, nodding like it was a professional thing, hopefully not looking like she was scared to death.

"Thank you, Puck," she said loud enough for the slowly approaching crowd. There had been fifteen kids, ten adults. "I'll be sure to let Dr. Erving know." She turned back and walked briskly to her station. Ezekiel jumped when she entered, pretending not to be snooping.

"Well, that's unsurprising," she said, flexing her arms. The guy had a chart in his hands, then it was swinging toward her and she caught him, twisting his arm until she heard a crack. "Don't bother. We have rangers on their way to arrest you." Even as he crumpled he punched her in the boob and cried out, and people from his group- cult, it was a cult, and not one of the safe ones that were just a little weirder than other Christians- ran in. But unlike Puck, who preferred blunt force trauma, Lauren carried a gun with her. The group of people, mostly men, stilled. "I _will_ kill you all."

"Bitch," spat Ezekiel. His friends picked him up and carried him out, ignoring her. Lauren stayed still, listening to the rangers pulling up, people shooting, the kids screaming protest. She walked out, calm, and saw some kids trying to get past the rangers and Puck and failing, the parents pleading as well. The wall of rangers eventually pressed them through the gate and shut it firmly, people already climbing the wall to take potshots at those retreating. Lauren felt more than heard Puck approach, and she took his hand. They were friends, she decided, not just colleagues or apprentices under Erving (who was just as much of an asset as the library they'd managed to save from the fire or getting torn down).

Puck was shaking too. One in five guys, she thought, and that this explained his attitude a lot more. Whatever happened to him to make him disrespect women when he had a single mother and a little sister must have been bad. There weren't that many things that made him react like that. Kids, she'd found, were his weakness.

"If we hadn't insisted on full examinations-" Puck said. Lauren gulped and nodded.

"It'll be okay," she said, because useless platitudes were her thing now.

* * *

Day Twenty-Five

"Six hundred people," Puck said. "That increases our population by half. So how many people would it take to increase it by a third, an eighth, and three?" The kids stared at him and he sighed. "Sarah?"

"Um," his sister said, face screwed up. "Six hundred times two is twelve hundred, so that's how many people we have. A third of twelve is four, so four hundred people would do that. Um, I don't know what twelve divided by eight is, and, uh, twelve times three is thirty six, so subtract twelve from thirty-six and you get twenty-four?"

"A hundred fifty," one of the new kids, a boy from- that bastard who's name was now taboo and would never be mentioned outside the kids' therapy sessions- said. He was maybe eleven, and he hadn't spoken since they'd exiled the adults from the settlement and gave all the kids full medical examinations. They would have killed the leader, but people had actually been defending him, standing in front of him like he hadn't done the worst thing in the world. Luckily it was procedure to separate children from adults because some of their people didn't have the appropriate bedside manner to work with kids, so none of the kids had been in the group that had literally been shoved out of the gates and shot at until they ran away. God, that night had been awful. There were fifteen kids and they didn't know why their parents had gone away; some of them were old enough to know that it was the people in town who'd done it and they'd wanted to join their parents, even though they'd had search parties out and the cult was gone.

They were slowly getting them out of that mindset. Cults like that- no one wanted to talk about it, but everyone knew it was the worst thing they'd ever seen, including zombies. God, Puck hated that man.

"That's right, a hundred fifty people would increase the original population by an eighth. Um..."

"Toby," the kid said, then hesitated. "Well- yeah, Toby."

That was progress, Puck figured.

* * *

_From the journal of Kurt Hummel:_

_Two executions today. We debated about the method for a while, especially since both of the men had committed the same crime and we obviously need something that the public can see and other rapists can think about. Puck insisted that a hanging or beheading would be bad for morale in general, so we're going to have a firing squad. I think the bullets will be put in my gun, because I'm the best shot. I don't think I can handle that sort of responsibility. There are zombies, but humans, even the most vile ones in existence, are still humans._

_Schue and Howell sent back a letter, said they found a settlement. Dad and Carol too, and they sounded like they were going to be somewhere more like here soon, from rumors around where they were._

_I'm shaking._

They had the executions one after another. It lasted all of five minutes.

It wasn't Kurt's gun. Kurt knew where he was aiming, and he knew where the men were hit. Both times the men were hit in the chest, when Kurt- and the two other rangers- had aimed at the head. So out of the six people shooting it had been one of the three hunters. Mike had to be sick in a trash can afterward, when they took the bodies to freshly dug graves and the enormity of the situation hit them. Almost a month in, and Kurt was finally thinking about the zombies he'd had to kill, the things that had killed his friends. He twirled a knife in his hands, thinking about Dad taking him to lessons, Tai Chi and karate and gun safety. Making sure he was up to date, even if he didn't like shooting deer like Dad did, because that was something they could talk about that wasn't cars and they'd needed something after Mom died.

"That's interesting and morbid," one of the brand new recruits said. Kurt had sparred with him in the beginning, like he did with everyone. He was short but compact, he'd taken boxing classes for the past year and it showed. It was just his marksmanship that they'd had to work on, and his conduct in civilian affairs. Especially the way he was looking at Kurt, and Kurt's knife. Hands, hopefully.

"Blaine," he said. The knife slipped slightly and he flipped it, catching it and extending the hilt. Blaine took it and stuck the knife in the table between them, smiling. "No sign of Ryerson or his cult?"

"No, but we saw tire tracks," Blaine said, sitting down at the table. "Kurt-"

"Anderson." Kurt winced at his own voice. "Blaine." His nails dug into the cheap plastic chair. Blaine was a lot closer now. "We have to be professional."

Warm. Warm and a little damp, and almost electric. Kurt hadn't touched anyone more than he had to in the past weeks, preoccupied with killing and keeping things going with rangers who were even younger than him. Kissing, being kissed, hadn't been on his mind.

It was better than he'd thought it would be. He felt touch starved, pressing hands into skin and gripping tight, even as Blaine did the same, straddled the chair he was on and groaned. It creaked a warning Kurt ignored, too busy kissing Blaine's neck and jaw. He wondered if his skin would taste like gunpowder, like steel, like how he smelled, and forgot, if only for a second, how fucking _terrified_ he was.

He was so cold that a kiss was enough to make him feel like there was fire under his skin, warming him from the inside out.

* * *

Day Twenty-Eight

**Puckerman**

**Requisitioning supplies and volunteers**

**Current population of Lima: 2,084. The population has nearly doubled in the month since the outbreak. Current medical staff is as follows:**

**Fully certified medical doctors: 1**

**Registered nurses: 6**

**Licensed practical nurses: 7**

**Certified nurse technicians: 4**

**Apprentice healers: 14**

**Volunteer workers: 24**

**Ratio of possible patients to workers (volunteers included): ~ 50:1**

**Ratio of possible patients to workers (volunteers excluded): ~ 65:1**

**Currently medical staff is taxed. Should an outbreak of even a simple virus occur, medical staff will be pushed to its limits and will have to withdraw from the wall. It will be necessary to train at least fifteen (15) emergency technicians in basic first aid in the event that such an outbreak occurs.**

* * *

_**Day Twenty-Nine**_

**_Sue Sylvester's Log:_**

**_I have received a second letter from Howell and Schuester. They are on their way back to Lima with a coterie of thirty adults and twelve children, totalling forty-two people. There are three nurses of unknown skill in their number, which will hopefully be of help to Puckerman and his people._**

**_On the subject of what has now been deemed 'ranging' by children whose lives are obviously influenced more by books than reality, the Columbus situation is as dire as ever. Hummel, as he refuses to take a partner whose skill does not match his own, has been banned from leaving the city. We cannot afford to lose his skill, especially when training the new blood who have not had the benefit of an education under myself. Until he has chosen a sufficiently skilled partner that he is not having sexual relations with he is on training duty._**

**_The matter which has been on everyone's minds, namely the fifteen children, has yet to be resolved. They have been placed with individual families, some who lost children in the outbreak, but they remain closed off and distant whenever someone speaks to them. The only person they seem comfortable talking with is Puckerman, who has no obvious skill with children but who seems to be a role model for them. Hopefully they will begin to open up to others soon._**

**_Sue Sylvester, October 9, Year One_**

"Okay, who wanted meatloaf and who had spaghetti?" Puck asked. Sarah started handing out meatloaf because she had a better memory for these things than he did, and wherever she left it empty he put a plate of spaghetti. Toby smiled toothily at him and he grinned back, sitting at the end of the line of kids and cutting into his own meatloaf. "Okay, let's play a game of what the heck is this piece of meat." He very nearly gagged when he got a piece of pigeon in his teeth with the beef, which they'd been running out of for days. He would honestly prefer to eat just the bird, if it came down to that, but most people honestly hated it.

One of the littlest kids, Amanda, clung to him instead of eating her spaghetti. He cut up her spaghetti into little pieces for her and poked her shoulder playfully.

"Come on, you gotta eat or you don't get a story," he said. His storytelling skills were the best. He had this on the word of a three-year-old, so he was pretty sure it was true.

She thought for a few seconds and said, "Okay, if it's the princess story."

The boys groaned. Puck looked at them, an eyebrow raised.

"You think a girl can't save boys sometimes?" he asked. "Princess Padme Amidala can totally fight ogres too, and her sidekick Chewie Skywalker is a total badass." He had a working knowlege of Star Wars, but he liked to make up the stories on his own. Currently Padme was stuck in a cave with a dragon, Chewie knocked out cold in the treasure hoard he kept there. She was going to have to answer a few riddles- which meant the kids were going to answer some riddles- before she could rescue Chewie and get out of the cave with a special cup that would give someone eternal youth. She wanted it for her sick father, to heal him. There was some message in there about not being greedy and helping people, but he was really just making it up as he went along.

"Spider," Toby finally said. He was so damn smart, Puck couldn't believe it sometimes. He'd never wanted to torture someone more than whoever had decided hurting him was a good idea. All of the people who let that go on, kids turning into the monsters too. These kids were so damn good, so happy when they weren't sad.

"So the dragon gave Padme the golden cup, but said that Chewie would have to stay with him so she would return it. Because people aren't dragons, and they can't live forever. After curing her father's sickness, Padme will have to journey back through more challenges to reach Chewie before he grows too attached to the dragon and the gold and becomes a dragon himself."

Everyone looked shocked, even Sarah, who pretended to be too cool for stories. Amanda was asleep, or nearly there. She'd tell Puck about what she dreamed the next day, if she caught him before he started work. It would inevitably be the story told in technicolor, which was amazing and sort of terrifying because no one else was able to teach them anything without them pulling together in a group and keeping quiet, an impenetrable barrier that no one tested without getting hurt. The oldest boy, Jeremy, was twelve, and he had a cutting wit behind his tense face.

Puck escorted everyone back to their houses. The new parents had chosen to live close together, two families sharing a house (not that that was uncommon any more, overcrowding a bigger problem than food or medicine supply as of now). It was almost dark already. Jeremy sat down on the porch and let Puck sit close by.

"What's wrong?" he asked after a minute of silent shaking and sobbing. Kids were so resilient, but in an awful way. Amanda probably wouldn't even remember the cult, and she hadn't even been one of the ones abused. She'd probably be completely normal, or at least as normal as kids could get nowadays. "You don't have to say anything, but if you want to you know I'm here to talk, and so is Zizes, and the Johnsons. Whatever your comfortable with, Jeremy."

His eyes were teary when he looked at Puck.

"My mom's gone," he said. "She s-s-s-" His breath came in sobs. Puck didn't touch him, knew how unwanted that was. "S-s-aid, I'm n-n-n-normal." He was tearing at his hair and that was why Puck took his hands. They were on the same level now and Jeremy looked younger than he was, so damn young.

"Hey, hey, whatever it is, it's okay," he said. "You don't have to say anything unless you want to, okay?"

Jeremy lunged, and he was suddenly hugging a shaking twelve-year-old who was sobbing into his shoulder. He hadn't had someone cry on him since Sarah was about eight and she'd broken her leg.

Slowly, through hiccuping sobs, Jeremy told Puck about his mom, who'd 'left' when he was nine because she couldn't deal with anything anymore, about his uncle moving into town to help with the funeral and how everyone had liked him, but he'd told Jeremy he wasn't normal, that he was a freak of nature.

"You're not any of that," Puck said. "He was evil, and he lied. None of that was because of you, only because you were there and he thought that was enough excuse." He wasn't making sense but Jeremy nodded, separating them and sitting down again. No one had come out, luckily, because whatever happened, whatever stage of grief they'd passed through, Puck could tell that Jeremy had needed that.

"Thanks, Puck," Jeremy said. "Y- you kinda remind me of my mom," he said shyly, and Puck chuckled.

"Well, I tell a good bedtime story like a mom does, I guess," he said. "You gonna go in and sleep or do I have to tell another one?"

"No, I'm okay," Jeremy said. He stood up and hugged Puck again, clinging tightly, before he ran into the house.

Puck walked to the infirmary, grabbing vodka on the way. Zizes took one look at him and sat him down in a chair, quizzing him on bones and muscles in the foot until he was calm and getting a buzz.

"Okay, now, I'm not going to make you say anything but whatever's got you this riled up is obviously awful."

_No one would believe you_, she'd said. _Boys always want it_.

"I'd believe you," Lauren said. He'd said that out loud, he realized. He flinched. "And just because you get a boner doesn't mean you want anything. God, if that were the logic, no one would ever stop screwing." She took a swig of vodka. "Also, 'cause no one else is gonna say it, you're allowed to be fucked up. Even here, Puckerman."

He hadn't known that was an option, honestly. From day one, it had been perfection, perfect, all the time or you're dead spotless, flawless, and getting out of that, admitting that he could fuck up, be fucked in the head, was a pretty magnificent trial. He didn't think Lauren would be as awesome if she'd really known him before, how awful he could be, what he would do. She probably wouldn't kiss him softly on the cheek, or tell him, "Sleep it off, Puckerman, it'll seem better in the morning if you're not dying of a hangover."

He fell asleep in the infirmary, but it wasn't like he hadn't done that before.

* * *

Home was only a few hours away. They'd been gone for almost three weeks, training Finn and Mercedes, hunting and trying not to be hunted in return. There was no way they could teach them any more than they already had unless Brittany could teach them how to see the ghosts, and that wasn't going to happen. It was sort of sad, because if she could have she could have helped Finn's dad get over what kept him here, and Mercedes could have said goodbye before her dad left. Santana's mom and dad hadn't become ghosts, which was awful.

"Zombies," she said, because she could feel the emptiness and knew Santana would believe her. It scared her, because she didn't know if they couldn't make ghosts or if they were held inside the zombies' bodies or if the zombies killed the ghosts. Shooting them made the emptiness go away, like taking her hand off a vacuum attachment, but she never saw the ghosts. She didn't even dream about them.

"I swear, it's like you have a sixth sense or something," Santana said later. They were eating instant oatmeal in purified water, and Santana looked at her like she did sometimes, like she almost believed her. "Did you- did you really see Hummel's mom?" she asked. Brittany nodded.

"Before that all I saw were colors. Then there were too many to ignore."

Santana looked like she believed her, but no one really ever believed her.

* * *

Still don't ship Klaine, but touch starved teenagers aren't going to be going with the author's pick just yet. One more chapter before Quinn gets to Lima.

Are zombies killing ghosts? Are their spirits trapped inside them? Is Brittany going to figure it out? (That last one's a yes, by the way.)

Next chapter: plot! (other than what we've got) intrigue! polyamory! (guess who's coming to town with her sanitizer) Then I'll update TNN as well. Trying to keep it timed up chronologically makes me grimace.


	6. Day Thirty Through Thirty-Two

**PORN. PORNY PORNY PORN. BY THE WAY THERE'S PORN. OF THE LESBIAN VARIETY. ALSO FEELINGS. AND ANGST. AND SUPERNATURAL SHENANIGANS.**

**It isn't graphic, I swear.**

**Aka: This went somewhere I didn't think it was going to go. Also this is longer than normal, but only a little.**

* * *

**Day Thirty**

It was a simple enough sound, the snap of a twig on the ground, but it was too early in the morning for Britt to be up and Santana was starting the fire, so any animals would have been running away from them and that was too close. Santana turned, gun already out, but even as she pulled the trigger on the zombie it was tearing into her arm, jaw going rigid. Its brains spattered everywhere, her face, her hair, even some in her mouth that tasted rotten and disgusting. She spit it out and shoved the dead corpse off her arm, removing her leather jacket. The pain, sharper than a bruise would have caused, was enough to alert her to what she knew she'd find. Only four teeth had gotten through her skin, but that would be enough. Santana wiped the blood off, wondering how long it would take for her to start having symptoms. Fever and a headache, gums beginning to swell with infection, and then she'd start to die. She'd get hungry and would never be satisfied, even if she ate every person she met. Then they'd kill her.

"Santana," Brittany said. She looked up, trying to smile but failing miserably.

"Hey Britt," she said, overcome with emotion. Love, and fear, and resolve. "You're going to have to leave. I don't want you to see this." Her hands were bloody from the zombie. Strangely, she didn't blame it. It had been made, just like every other zombie, by some human who decided they wanted to be God. She hadn't been to church in years other than on Christmas and Easter, she didn't even know if she believed in God- "Sweetie, you have to leave. I only have about an hour before I start wanting to eat you."

"I'm not leaving you," Britt said, sitting down beside her. "If you kill yourself, I'll take your gun and kill myself too." Her eyes were so blue when they were filled with tears. "If you turn into a zombie I'll shoot you and then shoot myself. I'm not going to leave you, ever."

"Britt-" She shook her head. "You can't, Britt. You're too good to die. You have to leave, you have to tell Lima that we trained Finn and Mercedes. Otherwise everyone will think they're dead."

Britt took her hand, squeezing tightly. She refused to let go.

"We can have one hour together, then we'll die," Britt said. "We made it this far, they'll find our bodies. They'll find the mail. They'll know."

Santana stifled a sob. She didn't know when it would start to affect her, but she knew they didn't have an hour. They wouldn't have anything, not now.

"I love you," she said for the third time ever. "I love you so much, please, Britt, you have to go, you have to survive. Please. I can't die without knowing you'll be alright."

Brittany turned her head and kissed her deeply, biting her lip so hard it broke.

"There. Now we'll both be zombies," she said, showing Santana the blood mingling in a cut she had on the inside of her mouth. Santana tried to think, wondered if it was true. No one even knew how the virus was spreading except through bites, which was only a theory. No one had let someone bitten live long enough to figure it out after the first wave.

"Oh my god no, Brittany," she said, then she kissed her again, tongue swirling, tasting the blood in their mouths. They turned to where she was straddling Britt's hips, hands on either side of her in the dirt. It was only when she broke away to mouth a bloody trail down her neck that Santana realized Britt was feeling her up, hands under her shirt, under her bra, unhooking it and sliding the whole outfit off her. She shivered in the cold air and pressed her hands into Britt's sides, pulling her shirt up. "God, I love you so much."

"Need you, now," Britt said. "Now and always, forever, Santana."

She kissed her hard, unbuttoning her pants and thinking, forever, an hour is forever. It wouldn't be enough time, there hadn't been enough time before and there wasn't enough time now, but they were both dying, they had to be, there was no other way than through blood if it was biting with those disgusting gums. Britt hissed when she pulled her pants down just enough to suit her.

"Shh, here," she said, handing Britt her shirt and getting them out of the rest of it, making a bed of their clothes on the ground. They'd done this part before, got down to nothing, but they'd always contented themselves with hands, maybe scissoring if they didn't want to get off as much as they wanted to be close. She'd only tasted Britt a few times afterward, when she wanted her to get riled up again, enough to go for hours and hours. She'd never been up close and personal with her junk like she was getting.

It was weird, yeah, and warm, and they hadn't had time to shave in a while so her nose got tickled a little bit and she wanted to giggle or sneeze. Brittany _arched_, almost like she was dancing on the ground, when Santana breathed out and the air must have gone right on her clit. On accident, which was cool, but when she licked in the general area and blew on purpose Brittany moaned and grabbed her hair.

She wondered if Britt liked what she liked when guys went down on her, if she'd like for Santana to- yep, definitely. Screaming wouldn't be a good idea here, though. There probably weren't more zombies, but that didn't mean they weren't close to the road where people could walk right up to them.

"Hush," she said, rubbing a hand along Britt's thigh. "I'm going to have to stop if you keep being so loud." If she could have she would have said that she could be as loud as she wanted to later, but she couldn't. She could still feel the throbbing pain in her arm. She didn't feel anything else, not yet, but it would be soon.

Britt put a hand over her own mouth, raising an eyebrow and wrapping a leg around Santana's torso.

Well, with that type of motivation, who could resist? She pressed two fingers into her, going back to her clit and sucking again. She felt intensely gratified when Britt groaned into her hand. She started to get herself off with her left hand, figuring this would be the last orgasm she ever had. Britt writhed and ended up with her legs wrapped around Santana's neck, squeezing enough to be uncomfortable. Like usual Santana could tell when she was close by the way her legs moved, started going tense and soft as she tried to get there while Santana helped. She could feel the muscles around her fingers tightening, resisting when she twisted and then clenching, creating more fluid that stuck to Santana's chin and made her groan, coming right after Brittany.

She didn't know how long they stayed like they did, her head on Brittany's somach with Britt's hands in her hair. It was long enough that she'd come down and realized that it was really fucking cold. She placed one last kiss on Brittany's stomach and they started getting their clothes back on.

"Usually you keep going," Britt pointed out. Usually they'd go at it until they were almost hurting and had to stop or risk even more overstimulation, and even then she wouldn't want to stop.

"Sometimes you don't need as much as you usually do," she said. She didn't even know if that made sense, but Britt sat down next to her and kissed her cheek, settling her head on Santana's shoulder. They sat there for a while, talking, trying to avoid saying anything that would start an argument when they figured they were about to go zombie. They moved farther away from the dead body, at least. She couldn't believe they'd had sex in front of a dead zombie.

"Oh dear," Britt said. "I think it's been two hours." She looked thrilled to be saying that they'd managed to pass the zombie deadline that had been established in the beginning. "I think you might be immune, Santana," she said.

That made Santana panic, which meant they spent the next hour arguing about whether someone could even be immune in between Britt kissing her like there was no tomorrow, or more like they'd come to tomorrow and realized that life was a lot longer than what they thought. Santana poked the teeth marks, wondering if maybe the leather had held the infection instead of her skin, so they burned that, even though Britt thought that she was actually immune.

"You're glowing," she said, which made Santana want to throw up because that was what she'd said dead people looked like, and she gagged a few times thinking about actually being dead, because now that the initial resolve was gone she didn't even know if she could pull a trigger on herself. There was one thing she knew, however, and that was that they couldn't go into Lima like this. Not covered in blood and not with bite marks on her arm. They'd kill her. Puck would get that look on his face, like he didn't want to do it and he would blame himself for the rest of his life, but he'd call security in and they'd execute her outside the city. Which would probably have a wall, since they'd started on it before they even left.

"I'm scared," she admitted. Britt was stitching up the bite marks so they looked like she ran into a bramble or a bush, and she stopped and kissed Santana's cheek.

"It'll be alright. We can get out if they suspect anything."

Santana hooked her chin over Britt's shoulder when she was done, looking down at the stitches and praying that they wouldn't know the difference between skin stitched together on purpose and skin that had been bitten by a zombie. It would be late enough by the time they reached Lima that it would be dark, so hopefully Puck wouldn't see what was actually there and would instead see what they wanted him to see. If worst came to worst she'd say that Bear bit her before they left Finn and Mercedes, and they could probably get away with that. They'd gotten rid of all the other evidence, after all.

The wall was pretty impressive, actually. It looked like it was as high as eight feet, and the small gate was guarded by four people who had to be zombie hunters. With awesome guns, and Santana would be really grateful to be back in her own bed if they survived the night.

"Hello, we're back," Brittany said. "We brought mail too."

Puck hugged them.

"You'll have to go through processing, of course," he said. "If you don't want me to stare at your tits you can get Zizes, but honestly, I've seen so much junk lately that it's all started to blur together."

"It's okay, Puck, we trust you," Brittany said solemnly. "We'll go together if that's okay."

Puck nodded absently and led them into a room that looked a lot more permanent than the tent they'd had set up when they left. Santana figured the open air policy was so security could be called more easily, and she backed up closer to the wall so no one would be able to see her but Puck. She stripped quickly, her shirt going last. Brittany took her hand.

When Puck saw the stitches he looked at Santana askance.

"When did those happen?" he asked.

"About fourteen hours ago, give or take," she said. It was true. He marked something on his clipboard and took a closer look at the stitches.

"These are good. We'll just have to put some antibiotic ointment on the cuts and hope they don't get infected." He smiled, wide and without any hesitation, and hugged her. "Sorry, it's just been too long, I swear to god Hummel's gonna drive me insane, him and his boyfriend don't know the meaning of subtle."

Britt stiffened, and Santana remembered that she'd said Kurt wasn't allowed to fall in love. Somehow Santana didn't see him fucking anyone he wasn't in love with, but it didn't necessarily mean they were anything but casual. She'd had sex with plenty of people she hadn't even liked (which had been to prove to herself that she could, and could even get off with them, true). It wasn't that unheard of.

"Well, we're here now, and you're not allowed to feel me up anymore, remember?" He pulled away and smiled sheepishly. They got new clothes, then went to the truck and finally home, and the zombie bite wasn't mentioned at all.

* * *

**Private Journal of Noah Puckerman**

**Day 31 post Zombie outbreak**

**Santana and Brittany are back. They brought back letters from Finn and Mercedes placing them somewhere in Tennessee or Mississipi, by the river they found. I got a letter from Finn asking me about condoms. I don't think he realized that I can't reply to those letters. I'm also wondering whether Mercedes Jones really wants to get in a relationship with Finn, especially when they won't be off the road for another few weeks.**

**I think Santana is hiding something from us. She had a strange injury, a set of punctures she claimed came from a bush she fell on when going to the bathroom in the morning. Their healing suggests that some of the punctures entered much further than others, which suggests that she is telling the truth, but I looked at the deepest set of punctures and realized that it looks exactly like four human teeth. There are bruises as well, which were hidden by the other punctures, that create the shape of a human mouth.**

**I don't even really want to write it, if someone finds this and figures it out like I have, but I guess the above is enough for someone smart enough to find this. I believe that Santana was bitten by a zombie. Obviously the clothing she wore prevented the majority of teeth from piercing her skin, and we still don't know exactly how the virus spreads, but immunity might be the only explanation. It has been suggested that zombies transfer the disease via saliva mingling with the bloodstream in a direct cut- skin contact with even the most intimate body parts, as the rangers' escapades have revealed, does not spread the disease whatsoever. If Santana is immune to the disease, that could mean her blood contains something other people's don't. Erving says the Plague didn't kill as many people with O blood type. This could be something similar.**

**On a brighter note, there are more medical staff, three nurses who've been amazing examining rangers and helping us get everyone documented and physicals in. So many peanut allergies. Sooooo many peanut allergies.**

**Also some people are allergic to strawberries, which isn't a big problem, but it's a weird one to have.**

**Schue and Howell and Ms. Pillsbury (that's all she lets people call her if they aren't those two, who call her Emma) are all in a relationship. I think. They asked Erving for condoms instead of one of us, probably thinking she wouldn't tell us. Honestly, medical's got the biggest group of gossips in the world. We requisitioned Howell from the building crew (who have a lot of problems because there aren't enough houses for every group to have their own unless there are like fifteen of them and then it's way overcrowded), and he didn't stop blushing for an hour.**

**Well, I have to go. Night school, sort of.**

The rangers had a meeting without him. Kurt wondered if they'd been having them before, or if this was something they'd decided to do once and then tell him about. He wanted to take something hard and flat and flog them, but that was probably overreacting. They had a point.

"Look, Hummel, it's not like we won't do what's necessary," Blaine said, the perfect picture of professionalism. Kurt wondered exactly how averse he would be to having Kurt's frustrations taken out on him in the bedroom. Probably not so much. "But we're doing cleanup, we're policing the city, we're hunting, killing zombies, we helped dig a well because the builders have to be focused on houses. We need to have order, structure. If that means we have to become soldiers, we'll do that, but we'd prefer not to act like we're in martial law." Blaine sat in one of the chairs- there were fifteen guys here, the ones whom Kurt had been thinking of as the leaders, the teachers. There were four women who were as good as Kurt, one who was teaching him hand-to-hand so he could train the recruits while he was trying to find a partner to take zombie hunting.

Kurt nodded, getting his thoughts together.

"You're right," he said. "It's been over a month, there are three hundred fifty of us- I'm assuming at least a few of them know you came here." Blaine nodded. "Good. Well, we can't have the type of army from before, because I'd get kicked out for sure." There were some chuckles. He was open with them about his sexuality, figuring that it would be better for people uncomfortable with him to be stationed somewhere away from him, and while it was terrifying (he wasn't even really out to his dad yet), it had worked better than denying it would have. "You know, technically I think Sylvester's supposed to be our leader."

"You're on the Counsel. So is Lopez, but I think she's joining the farmers."

She was, but no one knew that. It was about having equal footing everywhere, Kurt figured, and Sylvester didn't trust any of the new people brought in. Mike was head of the hunters, some who were much older than him, and Brittany sort of flitted between everything, building and hunting and taking Kurt out to hunt on days when he looked like he could use it. She didn't like gardening. The animals liked her; she'd probably end up there. Tina and Artie were drawing up plans for the builders together, knowing that that job was bigger than one person.

So Kurt was the rangers leader, because Sylvester couldn't do everything. Kurt figured this could get bad, if Sylvester were actually like a dictator and just used them to enforce awful laws, but they'd drawn up laws and she only asked to look over them and she actually let them vote over laws. Freedom of speech was unconditional, though they'd temporarily suspended freedom of the press because there weren't enough supplies to create a newspaper.

"Okay. We need to make up a set of rules, then. For us, not for everyone else." Firm voice, he thought. Whatever they did from here would reflect on him forever. "We need paper- that you have, of course. And a pen. And possibly plastic for later. And Sylvester has to approve it."

It took them four hours to write it up. He handed it in to Sylvester and sat in her office, which was guarded by one of (he guessed, now) his own.

"We don't mean to be insubordinant, but we need structure. And laws, and rights that we don't have right now. You should take the night to think about whether it's too much, or not enough, and I'll be in here tomorrow." He smiled and bowed on a whim before leaving her office.

* * *

_**Day Thirty-Three**_

_**Sue Sylvester's Log:**_

_**Well, I've signed it. It was quite something, reading laws that Hummel and fifteen children came up with that will define an entire police system. I think it's only really just hit, that I'm the official leader of this little town, that we are the largest government still left standing.**_

_**The little Counsel will sign later today. The laws are actually pretty fair, even if I don't like the idea of what 'defense' could mean to a soldier. That's what Hummel has become, I think, a soldier who has a mission defined for himself. Luckily he respects me as a commanding officer or he'd get himself killed.**_

_**I have yet to mourn my sister.**_

_**October 13, 1 p.o.**_

After Brittany signed the paper and they framed it to put it in the gym, she followed Kurt's mom to an empty hallway where he was sitting with a bottle of whiskey. He hadn't drunk that much, not enough to really hurt him, but Elizabeth looked worried about him. She couldn't talk but Brittany could feel her emotions like they were hers, and sometimes with so many people dead that was a big problem.

"Hey," she said, taking the bottle and having a swig. It burned. Kurt smiled at her. "You fell in love."

He pursed his lips, shook his head, and said, "Nah. I like him, but I don't love him." Elizabeth mouthed _not yet_ and sat down, stroking Kurt's hair. He couldn't have felt it but he seemed to look better anyway. "I could, though. If we ever got enough time."

"I think you'll have a lot of time. The zombies are dying." They were decaying at least. She'd figured it out. Whatever made the zombies zombies had bound their spirits to their bodies, which meant they couldn't die. It had to be supernatural, but she didn't know who had done it or why- probably just to kill people, honestly, or one person. It could have started with one person and gotten as bad as it had. Except that no other country was still there, or if they were they hadn't picked up transmissions Tina was making with the radios.

"Still have to shoot them," Kurt pointed out. "It's only a matter of time before they realize that other animals have meat too."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Well, it's still good news. They can't try to eat you if they don't have arms."

He laughed, which was probably a good sign, but then the laugh turned choked and he had to gulp to keep himself from coughing. She rubbed his back and hugged him when he wasn't expecting it. He was stiff, then he fell into her. He clutched at her back and cried silently. When he finished she separated them.

"What's wrong?" she asked. He took the whiskey from her and swallowed down more, wiping his lips off with a hand.

"Nothing, just this- these Codes, I guess we have to call them. Stupid name." One hand over his face, he sounded muffled when he continued, "They're so permanent. I'm the Director of the Rangers, capital D capital R. I only just turned sixteen, Britt."

"I'm still fifteen and I'm on the Counsel. Puck's going to be seventeen in June. Lauren Zizes just turned fifeen. Tina isn't even fifteen yet." She took his hand. "Mary was like thirteen."

He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Mary who?" he asked. "Like, Saint Mary? Britt, I'm an atheist, you know that."

She shrugged. "So? Lots of people become parents at twelve and thirteen, or they used to. It's normal to be working at our age."

"But what are we that we can do this?" he asked. "What will we become if we think we deserve this authority? Ten years, twenty years down the road, what are we going to regret?"

She squeezed the hand she had.

"Not what we did. What we didn't do. Your mom says Blaine's a nice boy, but she doesn't know if you'll last."

Kurt rolled his eyes.

"You and your ghosts," he said. "Well, I have to give this back to Puck or he'll kill me and won't help me with the inevitable hangover." He got up, wobbled, and started walking towards the infirmary. Elizabeth looked after him, smiling. She was his mom, and she wasn't happy about what he was doing, but he would be okay. Brittany would make sure he was.

"Don't worry, he'll figure it out," she said, and Elizabeth nodded. He would or Britt would break his arm and make sure he did.

* * *

I wrote up the Codes for personal reference, but I won't publish them here unless people want them.

The thing with zombies is pretty simple: as to a medical possibility, zombies cannot exist. Obviously, if someone were infected like that (high fever, gums swollen with blood, infection spread to even the saliva, manic episodes, extreme dehydration and malnourishment), they would be raving and pretty close to death. Well, there are psychics here, there are zombies, there can be magicians too. Not to say they're all bad in this universe, but someone who wanted to murder a few people and went way overboard is probably going to be viewed as evil. (In TNN they called it bio-terrorism, which, terror is intended to cause crippling fear, not to kill about three billion people in one day.)

Is Santana immune? Well, you have to look at it from every angle. On the one hand their theory that bites spread the virus has a pretty strong argument backing it up, but on the other hand if it only spreads through saliva mingling with blood in an open cut it could be that the two layers of clothing absorbed the saliva.

Polyamory won't be a big part of the story, but the polyamorous relationship between the three characters mentioned is going to be a constant.

Next time: Quinn Evans! (and all the freakouts that come with realizing you have eight months to learn how to deliver a baby) The costs of an alliance! _More_ supernatural shenanigans! _More_ intrigue! (the plot will thicken)


End file.
